


small victories

by riahk



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Healing, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riahk/pseuds/riahk
Summary: Sylvain and Felix overdo it in battle. Again. Dorothea happens to be on shift in the infirmary.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dorothea Arnault/Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dorothea Arnault/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	small victories

Dorothea’s day is going beautifully, for a number of reasons. The cafeteria was serving her favorite dish at breakfast, a small joy that was only further magnified by a slew of good news reported in the morning’s war council meeting. Army morale is up, there haven’t been any recent large-scale battles, and the next expected one is weeks away. Not to mention the weather is pleasant enough for her to take a much-needed solo tea in the garden, surrounded by the sweet scent of flowers and happy chatter.

She thinks it is about to get even better when Manuela approaches the table. “If it isn’t my favorite mentor,” Dorothea hums between sips, quickly bookmarking the copy of _Musical Magic (and Other Charms)_ that Annette so excitedly lent her yesterday. “Please, join me for a cup, won’t you?”

Manuela hesitates for a moment, but ends up settling in the empty chair across from her. “One won’t hurt, I suppose,” she mumbles, carefully smoothing out the fabric of her skirt as she settles down in the seat. Dorothea beams at her fellow songstress as she pours a piping hot berry blend into the dainty porcelain.

They catch up on the latest happenings around the monastery, and Manuela is a radiant delight as always. “I love what you’ve done with your makeup today,” Dorothea says. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“Thank you. Of course,” Manuela replies, and as her voice drops lower Dorothea begins to suspect something is amiss. They exchange a knowing glance, and a tired sigh escapes Manuela’s lips. “I actually have a favor to ask of you,” she says, resting her chin in her hands as the other grips her teacup shakily.

Dorothea feels her smile flicker for a moment, but this is Manuela. She wouldn’t ask for her help if it wasn’t important. And on the bright side, she does not look to be hungover, or in the precursor stage of becoming hungover, so it surely can’t be that bad. “You know you can always count on me, Professor,” she says. The title slips in there unintentionally, and she catches Manuela blushing at it; the monastery has felt nothing like an academy as of late, but they can at least pretend.

The brief moment of nostalgia passes and Manuela nods, getting on with her request. “I really hate to bother you, because I know it’s your day off, but…” She looks Dorothea in the eye. “I could really use an extra hand in the infirmary today.”

Not an unusual request, but the timing is rather puzzling. Dorothea tilts her head inquisitively. “Hm? Last I heard, we hadn’t gotten into any major skirmishes lately.”

“And you’re absolutely right. This is something else.” Something that wasn’t reported in war council, clearly, Dorothea thinks as Manuela continues. “As it happens, some bandits were stirring up trouble in one of the towns nearby.”

It’s upsetting news to hear, but Dorothea tries to focus on the past tense applied to the statement. “It’s always bandits, isn’t it?” she contemplates, massaging the pads of her fingers into her temple. “But it sounds like they’re no longer an issue, at least.”

“Yes. A couple of our men decided, with no prior consultations, to address the problem,” she explains. “Which they did, quite impressively so, but… they’re a bit banged up.”

The gears are beginning to turn in Dorothea’s head, but she needs more information. “‘A couple’? You don’t mean that literally, do you?” She asks the question half-jokingly, but the way Manuela’s eyes widen and her lips part in surprise makes it clear that the answer is a resounding ‘yes’. Which explains why Dorothea has not heard about this mysterious mission, but not why Manuela is making the request.

After all, Manuela has tended to the wounds of far more than two soldiers at once before. It’s certainly not a lack of medical ability that has spurred on this plea for assistance. Dorothea takes a closer, more scrutinizing look at her colleague, searching for further clues. Is she afflicted with a non-alcohol-induced sickness? Sleep deprived? Just feeling lazy?

No. As Dorothea noted earlier, Manuela is looking as flawless as can be today. But it is strange that she has not further elaborated on the situation. Dorothea decides to change her approach and get another hint, almost excited to have a little mystery to solve. “And you need me, specifically?”

Manuela chuckles lightly, catching on to the game she’s playing. “Yes, I would say so. Let’s just say that these patients have a tendency to be difficult, and you have a certain level of relevant expertise I could rely on.”

The elaboration is almost more information than Dorothea needs to fully deduce the situation. After all, she only knows two people in the army who are dumb enough to take on a whole band of thieves on their own. She also knows, now, why Manuela is so adamant on enlisting her help.

“It’s Sylvain and Felix, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Manuela confirms.

Dorothea sighs, slouching in her chair. “I was wondering why it was so peaceful around today.”

—

As it happens, giving Manuela a hand really translates to Dorothea working the day shift by herself. Which makes logistical sense, and she’s certainly physically up for the task. But she has to mentally prepare herself before stepping through the infirmary doorway, taking several deep breaths as she listens to the loud bickering on the other side of the threshold. The loud is Sylvain; the bickering is Felix. They truly are a match made in heaven, she thinks.

Or perhaps hell. The volume reaches a peak as she turns the doorknob.

“All I’m saying is that if we’d gone with my plan, you wouldn’t have broken your favorite sword,” Sylvain says.

“A broken sword is more easily mended than a broken arm,” Felix groans back. “Which is what you would have ended up with, if I hadn’t been there to stop you from rushing in there without thinking—”

Their argument comes to a sudden stop as Dorothea swings the door open momentously, scanning the room as she clicks it shut behind her. “Good afternoon, boys,” she announces, to two starkly opposite reactions. Sylvain is seated upright in a cot toward the interior wall, his upper body half-covered in bandages even as an enthusiastic grin is plastered across his face. Felix, similarly wrapped up — with an extra swath of gauze wound around his forehead — frowns at her from his bed by the window.

Positioning them as far apart as physically possible has clearly backfired. “Hey, Thea,” Sylvain purrs. “I was just telling Manuela that I missed you.” She smiles sardonically at the greeting, striding toward the desk and procuring the leather-bound log the head nurse had mentioned to her.

Felix rolls his eyes. “Clearly she had to bring in backup because of how difficult you are,” he says. Dorothea catches his gaze and holds it, stifling a giggle as Felix squirms under her piercing stare. “It’s nice to see you, though, I guess,” he mumbles before looking away.

“You too, Felix,” she says sweetly as she begins flipping through the notebook, searching for the most recent page. “I heard you two had a run-in with some bandits?” She locates the log from the morning, where Manuela’s elegant writing states that the two troublemakers were brought in around dawn. It’s followed by an impressive list of injuries.

“We were both on guard duty last night,” Sylvain recalls, the metal bed frame creaking as he leans back. “There was some suspicious activity around the east gate — three, four guys maybe. So Fe and I decided to follow them and sure enough, we found a whole thieves’ den camping out on the outskirts of town.”

Dorothea’s boots tap softly against the hardwood as she finds a chair, continuing to review the notes as she listens. “And instead of doing the sensible thing — returning for reinforcements — you decided to be heroes?” Sylvain has an uncharacteristically guilty look on his face. “Maybe if you’d invited me, you could have at least minimized the damage they did to you,” she says. Her tone is casual, but there’s a bite of frustration and worry in there too.

“Wouldn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep,” Sylvain teases.

“I tried to stop him,” Felix chimes in.

“Try harder next time,” Dorothea says, still looking at Sylvain. But she imagines Felix is chewing his lip nervously now, his go-to tell. Her eyes flick back down to the notebook. “Looks like you’re due to have your dressings changed,” she reads. “Who wants to go first?” It’s a mostly rhetorical question, because she’s entirely unsurprised when Sylvain raises his hand enthusiastically (as much as he can, in his current state) while Felix just sinks further into the sheets. Sylvain is closer, anyway.

The supplies she needs are already placed carefully on a cart, which she wheels over to the side of Sylvain’s bed with one hand, lifting up a small wooden stool with the other. She sets it down near the head of the bed and makes herself comfortable, holding her hands out expectantly. “I’m all yours,” he says with a wink as he positions his forearm over her palms, relaxing once Dorothea takes hold of him.

She starts at his knuckles, unwinding the cloth slowly and carefully to reveal the warm, slightly damp skin underneath. Once it’s unraveled up to Sylvain’s elbow, Dorothea runs her hands along the various welts and closed-up cuts, red and swollen in contrast to the lighter, older scars that have been slowly adding up. He tries to suppress a wince when she squeezes a bit too hard. “Sorry,” she whispers, and after a quick moment of focus her palms glow a luminous silver, sparking small wisps of healing magic across the surface of his skin.

Sylvain’s eyes light up, and he reaches his other hand toward hers. “Need any help? I’ve been brushing up on my faith spells lately,” he says, and she notes the way his fingertips flicker for a moment.

“Save your energy, you idiot,” Dorothea scolds, swatting his hand away. The gesture is met by a muffled laugh from the opposite end of the room. She’d nearly forgotten about her other patient.

“There you go again, trying to solve other peoples’ problems when you should really be dealing with your own,” Felix says, rolling onto his side to face them. Dorothea looks at him sympathetically; surely Felix thinks he’s being mean just for the sake of it, but he is so incredibly awful at hiding how much he cares. “Even Dorothea thinks you’re being stupid, now.”

"What do you mean, 'even' me?" Dorothea starts, dipping one of the clean towels into a bowl of warmed water. "I've always thought Sylvain is an idiot," she says as she runs the damp cloth along the underside of his arm, smiling at the way he shivers beneath her fingers.

He turns his attention to Felix. “Was it idiotic when I took that axe blow for you, too?” Dorothea feels her shoulders tense up at the thought, and the fact that she’ll probably have to see that wound in a moment. Felix doesn’t have a comeback for Sylvain’s quip. “Right. Better my back than your head,” he says. She must be visibly worried now, because Sylvain moves his hand up to rest on her shoulder. His voice is soft, apologetic. “Shit, we’re stressing you out with all this, aren’t we?”

Dorothea swallows, moving Sylvain’s arm back to the bed so she can continue her work. “I’m just glad you’re looking out for each other, at least,” she replies, beginning to remove the bandages draped around his bicep.

“Well, I can’t let Felix bite it before I do,” Sylvain says, leaning into her hands.

“Not this again,” Felix growls. Dorothea looks between them inquisitively. Whatever argument she’s about to witness is sure to be entertaining.

Sylvain is quick to fill her in. “You see, Thea, Fe and I made a promise when we were kids.”

Her eyes dart up to meet his, a sly smile on her face. “What, to be absolutely insufferable?”

“I mean, that’s what happened in practice,” Felix adds.

“For both of you, it seems,” Dorothea says, matter-of-factly. Sylvain shrugs, but Felix looks legitimately offended by the notion. Which is hilarious enough that she's unable to hold off her laughter; once she manages to calm down, she remembers Sylvain was trying to tell her something. “Oh, but what was the promise actually about?”

Now that she’s watching him expectantly, he appears to be overcome by a sudden bout of shyness. “Ah… just that we’d stick together until we die,” he mumbles. Dorothea realizes she wasn’t quite prepared to hear it. Sure, it’s a level of cheesy befitting Sylvain and his impressive arsenal of one-liners, but there’s a sincerity behind it that warms her heart. And it reminds her of something else he’d said to her recently.

“We also had a conversation about us growing old together, if I recall,” she says. “It wasn’t technically a promise, but I’m holding you to it. So you and Felix had better both stay alive for that, alright?”

He responds with a solemn and arresting stare, examining her face carefully. It’s enough to make Dorothea embarrassed, and she wonders how long he intends to keep torturing her with his intense attention. Just when she thinks she can’t bear it any longer, Sylvain’s gaze lowers to her stilled hands. She releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, refreshing herself on what her next task is. Her hands reach for the clean bandages, but Sylvain catches her wrist abruptly before she can pick them up.

"Wait," he says, a playful glint in his eyes. "How about you kiss it to make it better?"

Dorothea narrows her eyes. "Alright, now you're pushing it," she says, carefully peeling his fingers off her, one by one. She thinks she hears Felix release a breath.

Meanwhile, Sylvain is giving her puppy-dog eyes. "I think it would help," he explains, though he is struggling to keep a straight face. "You know. Emotionally," he adds with a shrug. Dorothea recognizes the bubbling feeling in her stomach that tells her she's on the brink of making a dumb decision. Somehow, the nagging instinct — and the way she can see Felix trying and failing to avert his puzzled glare — convinces her.

"Do you?" She asks, lifting his now-limp arm carefully to her face. Sylvain nods delicately, as if he understands that one slip of the tongue could change her mind. But he's already dared her. "Well, there's only one way to find out."

She starts with the blisters on his knuckles, massaging his wrist as she plants a slow cluster of pecks to his fingers. Her lips are soft against the rough skin, and once she finishes she gently curls Sylvain's hand open and plants one long kiss into the center of his palm. As her eyes flutter open she catches his eye and smiles. "Something wrong? Do you want me to stop?"

"No," he says, hesitantly. "But I think we're making Felix jealous."

"Trust me, I do not care," Felix mumbles from his bed, a reaction too quick for somebody who does not care, who hasn't clearly been observing them patiently and waiting for an opportunity to strike. They watch him shift under the covers, watch his eyes widen in surprise when he catches them looking. "What? Keep doing whatever…" He waves his hand vaguely in their direction. "Whatever this is and quit staring at me."

Sylvain and Dorothea exchange a mischievous look, like they've just discovered a new game. Sylvain goes first. "Really, Fe? You're not even going to try and stop me? Not one comment on how inappropriate this is?" His hand closes around hers, fingers drumming against her skin excitedly.

Felix only groans in response. Dorothea takes a stab at it. "I think maybe he secretly enjoys it," she says in a loud stage whisper. He takes his pillow and smothers it over his face. "And he says I'm dramatic," she mumbles, depositing Sylvain's arm back onto the mattress and rising from her stool. She crosses the room and kneels at Felix's bedside, squeezing his arm encouragingly.

"What do you want," he says, voice muffled through feathers and cotton.

"To include you," Dorothea says softly, working her fingers into the flesh of his arm. It's an action Felix has surprisingly not resisted yet. He peeks over the edge of the pillow, his gaze softer than she is expecting. “But if you’re going to be so reticent, I may just try to coax you out with a song.” Still nothing. Dorothea inhales deeply, sounding out a few warm-up notes.

Felix finally unveils himself and scoots into a reluctant seat. “Spare me, please,” he practically begs. Though based on prior experience, she suspects he may be more open to a performance at a more appropriate — more secret — time. Dorothea inspects the bandages wound around his head, running her fingers along his hairline and brushing a few stray strands out of his eyes. With Felix's coloring, it is like peeling the night back to reveal the sun. She frowns when she feels a raised bump just above his ear.

“He got knocked pretty hard against a wall,” Sylvain explains, his voice thick with concern.

“You need to be more careful,” Dorothea says to Felix, her lips hovering inches from his ear. She’s surprised he hasn’t protested her proximity yet. “Any more head injuries and I’m worried we’ll lose what makes you… you.”

“Pretty sure you’d like that, considering how much you’re always reprimanding me,” Felix replies; he’s so close that she can feel the gravelly rumble of his voice. She has to suppress a shiver.

“Absolutely not,” Dorothea assures him, though she’s not sure if reassurance is what he’s fishing for. If he’s fishing at all. One thing she’s learned about Felix is that he does not put much thought into what he says, yet it is somehow always some flavor of apt or meaningful. She plants a kiss against his temple; then, while he’s still distracted by the leftover warmth of her lips, she takes his.

There’s confusion but not resistance, and Dorothea wonders for a moment if he really did hit his head too hard this time. But she doesn’t question it, because it’s always a pleasure to kiss Felix. It is the exact opposite of sparring with him; all the confidence and roughness that he has with a blade in his hands melts away at the slightest hint of softness. And as she and Sylvain have told each other many times, there is nothing quite as satisfying as reducing Felix to a tender, affection-craving puddle.

He holds out for a while before pulling away, leaning back against the wall and peering out the window. She watches him open his mouth to speak, then close it; he repeats the cycle several times before finally looking at her, silently begging her to fill the silence.

"That’s what you want to do to Sylvain, isn’t it?" Dorothea asks, perching her elbows on the tops of her thighs.

"I mean, I think he's happy to do it with you, too, Thea," Sylvain says, admiring the two of them from afar.

Felix lowers his forehead into his hands. "No one is 'doing it' with anybody!"

Dorothea gives his shoulder a quick squeeze before rising back to her feet. "Lie back down," she instructs. "I'm going to finish Sylvain's bandages, and then it'll actually be your turn." She pivots dramatically and walks away, swaying her hips to give him a show.

She gives Sylvain a quick kiss on the cheek before she settles back down. "That's from Fe."

Before she can pull fully away, Sylvain catches her cheek in his hand and brings her back in for a full kiss. It takes her by surprise, though it really shouldn't. "And that's from me," he whispers, trying to keep her close.

Dorothea inevitably slips away, returning to her seat with an embarrassed sigh. "Just let me finish my job, alright?"

—

After their injuries have been fully tended to, Sylvain announces he has an idea. "These frames have wheels," he points out while Dorothea is busy wringing out her hands over the wash basin.

"I'm not sure I like where this is going," she says, fetching a writing quill from the desk and making a quick note of her tasks in the log.

"Just trust me," Sylvain assures her, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and hobbling over to one of the neighboring cots. Before Dorothea can reach him, the rumbling sound of wheels on wood echoes through the room as he closes the distance between the two beds. She catches him by the arm, swallowing her annoyance in favor of patience and gently guiding him back to a seat. "Come on, I'm fine," he insists.

She pushes down on either side of his shoulders. "You need to rest," she tells him, though after taking a second look at Sylvain's work she begins to understand what he's getting at.

He climbs back under the sheets, shaking his head. "Fine. Can you at least roll Felix over here, then?"

The other man appears to be sleeping, but Dorothea nods and makes her way to his bed anyway. "Sure thing," she whispers, maneuvering Felix over as quietly as possible. Not that her hushed voice or careful movements help, since he lets out a sleepy whine and flutters his eyes open, slowly processing the situation. "Don't worry," she says as he pops up onto his elbows. "I think this'll help you feel better."

Felix narrows his eyes but is still too tired to be upset. After a moment — and minor directing from Sylvain — they've successfully positioned three beds flush against each other, mimicking the size of a much larger one. The ideal accommodation for all current infirmary patients and their dedicated personal nurse. "Perfect," Sylvain says, looking up at Dorothea and patting the empty middle mattress enthusiastically.

She climbs over the foot of the bed and gets nervous for a moment when the whole structure wobbles beneath her. Sylvain reaches out to steady Dorothea as she takes a seat. To her surprise, a now-awake and upright Felix also grips her shoulder silently. "Thank you," she breathes, noting that even in recovery their hands are as strong and firm as ever.

"Not bad, huh?" Sylvain nudges her and looks inquisitively at Felix. "Now we can relax properly."

"I guess," Felix mumbles. Dorothea holds her hands out to either side and two separate, roughened palms slip blissfully into hers. Felix squeezes his grip tighter, his body instinctively leaning towards her, towards Sylvain. The two childhood friends keep exchanging silent but meaningful looks, and she wonders what they're saying to each other.

But she's satisfied with keeping it a mystery as she lowers her head down to the pillow for some well-deserved respite. Through half-lidded eyes she is vaguely aware of Sylvain and Felix shifting closer to her midline, their bodies leaning in toward each other as Sylvain claims his second kiss of the afternoon. He giggles through it, lets Felix's free hand roam into his messy hair with a surprising degree of intention. Sylvain reaches up and weaves their fingers together momentously, as if casting a spell.

Their hands stay entwined even as their mouths part. Slowly they both settle down on either side of Dorothea, snuggled up against her while their palms rest lightly on her stomach. Their bodies hook effortlessly into each other, joint into an unbroken circle.

"Dorothea," Felix says, his forehead brushing against her cheek.

"Yes, Felix?"

"Thanks for being around," he says, softly, like he's speaking through a haze. She hums happily, her voice blooming into a laugh just as Sylvain nibbles along the ridge of her ear. Which is his own flavor of gratitude, but she hears the same words from him a moment later as well.

"I'm glad both of you are here," he tells them, hooking his chin into the crook of her neck and tightening his grip on Felix's hand. His warmth presses into her skin like he's trying to get impossibly close to both of them. And in a sense he succeeds, because Dorothea feels impossibly comfortable.

She watches the ceiling, streams of sunlight casting lines across the plaster and reminding her of the world waiting outside this room. Her daydreams of tea and books and singing are undercut with the soothing undulations of steady breath and the faithful sinus rhythm of three hearts beating in harmony. Surely there are many things she could be doing right now, but in the moment she's glad to spend time with her two favorite idiots. After all, they could have died this morning — unlikely, but the possibility is always there — and they didn't.

Sylvain and Felix's promise is still intact. Dorothea weaves her own silent oath into the ether, resolving to keep it that way for as long as possible. As long as she can. She won't tell them this, not with words, but she imagines they already know.

Her day is going beautifully.


End file.
